To Seduce a Porsche
by Oni Mathier
Summary: Admitting to love was the easy part. Actually acting on it may just be the death of Prowl. Continuation of "To Woo a Datsun."
1. Chapter 00, In which Prowl plots

**To Seduce a Porsche**

Transformers (G1) Verse  
Rating: PG…so far :)  
Characters: Prowl, Jazz

_A/N: Welcome to the follow-up to "To Woo a Datsun". If you have not read it, it is not a prerequisite for this story...but it will help. ;D_  
_BIG THANKS to everyone who reviewed/faved/alerted my last story...I really, really appreciate all of your comments. Hope that you enjoy this!_

_Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers. Nope. Just enjoy messing with their otherwise normal lives..._

* * *

_Seduce_ [wu] – verb (used with object) – To persuade or induce to have sexual intercourse…

Being the object of pursuit had been something new for the Autobot's head tactician. New and very_ intriguing_. Once Prowl had determined that Jazz was, in fact, attempting to gain his attention and win his favor, he had approached the situation exactly as he would have for any other anomaly or questionable element—with unobtrusive and impartial observation and a careful cataloguing of the resulting data.

In truth, he had expected the saboteur to grow tired fairly quickly of the second-in-command's lack of reaction to what he did. Surprisingly, and pleasantly so, the other mech had not done as anticipate, but had in fact become even more clever and diligent in his wooing. This was something in which he was extremely grateful for now, being able to apply hindsight to those past events.

Admittedly, Prowl had intentionally kept his emotional subroutines in-check and as suppressed as possible when concerning the Porsche. While raw, physical attraction could be flattering in its own way, it had the propensity to lead to lust and a very short and unstable relationship. Something that Prowl had every intent of avoiding during his tenure on the Arc considering that living aboard a small exploration vessel (and now a slightly compacted vessel at that) with 30 plus mechs guaranteed a lack of personal space and privacy. Add to that both his and Jazz's status as high-ranking officers and, well…one could understand the Datsun's leeriness. That had been his justification and he was not planning to abandon that line of logic anytime in the near future.

It had not been difficult to admit that his fellow black and white was handsome and exotic and that the attraction was not entirely one-sided. Prowl could be called many things, but never a fool. He _had_ been called the majority of those things at one time or another throughout his existence—many not particularly flattering—but he was a rational enough mech to not define himself based on the opinions of others. He had no problem or insecurity about being a reserved and logic-driven individual. The same could not be said for everyone else. It simply was who he was. Yes, being introverted meant that more energy was required to outwardly express emotion, especially in a way that an extroverted individual would actually understand.

Tragically, Prowl's 'difficult' personality had caused more break-ups than successes in the interpersonal relationship department. As a result, the tactician had really only had a couple of long-term partners over his very long lifetime and the last had been well before the Autobots had constructed their Arc and left Cybertron.

Now he had Jazz (and here he needed to pause again to bask in that simple and unexpected joy) and their budding relationship was such a treasured new part of the Datsun's life. One that he hoped would be a lasting part.

There was only one hurdle that they had yet to cross, per se.

After four or so months of dating, the soft touches and warm kisses that he shared with the gregarious saboteur had become nothing short of torture, teasing the Second with increasing regularity. He craved that alluring mech and those dark swaying hips and deviant smirks. He wanted to be more…_physical_ and broaching the subject with the Porsche was difficult for him to say the very least. _Impossible_ would be a much more accurate word.

How does one say to the mech that they love that you want to frag him senseless without _saying_ it?

* * *

_A/N #2: This is just a quickie intro. I will have the first real chapter up within the day! :)_


	2. Chapter 01, Pretty and Prowl

**To Seduce a Porsche (**Part 1**)**

Transformers (G1) Verse  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Prowl, Jazz...minor Sunstreaker  
Warnings: Implied mechxmech..don't like? don't read.

_A/N: …and here Prowl wonders just what he has gotten himself into and we find out that luck (or the lack there of) is especially contagious…_

_Disclaimer: I do not have anything to do with the ownership of Transformers, though I certainly would like to. :)_

* * *

Attempt #1 _– Find out what your significant other finds alluring about you—try accenting two of your best features._

Steam rose slowly, wrapping in thin tendrils around a pair of still black and white door wings. Optics turned off, Prowl did his best to let the heated water pouring over him soothe and relax his overactive processors.

The personal wash racks in his quarters had become an unexpected blessing for the Autobot's second-in-command. For whatever reason, it was one of the few places that he was actually able to let go of the stress and tension that worked itself into every inch of his chassis throughout the day. Before their landing and subsequent awakening on Earth, Prowl had never treated bathing as anything more than a step in his daily process—a means to keep him at 100% efficiency. The daily interactions that the Cybertronians had with the native sentient life forms meant that adopting their units of time and its relation to their planet's only star made things run more cohesively overall. It also meant that there was now more 'off-time' for not only the rank-and-file, but for the officers as well. Not that he had made much use of it before.

Musings aside, Prowl let his thoughts drift towards his good friend…well, _boyfriend_ now. What could he do to push their relationship towards a more physical level? With all of the energy that Jazz had put into gaining his attention and winning his favor, the second wanted to make him feel just as special. Just as treasured. But intimacy was not one of Prowl's many strengths. Truth be told, it was a pretty big weakness…and he hated admitting to any weakness.

Turning off the rinse cycle, the black and white turned to grab a towel and dry off, but the flash of his reflection in the small mirror over the equally modest sink stopped him. What was it about him that the saboteur found so intriguing? Head tilting half-consciously, he tried to run an objective optic over his appearance. His paint job (now newly clean) was fairly simple and austere, mostly a result of his function both here and when he had been an enforcer on Cyberton.

Was he an attractive mech? Obviously something about him was attractive to Jazz, but what? Perhaps if he could figure that out it would aid him in his seduction efforts.

* * *

A door wing twitched absently as sensors along the panel registered another mech within his realm of personal space. Optic ridge rising ever so slightly, he lifted his helm to regard the other bot. A Cheshire grin met the tactician in greeting.

"Can I help you, Jazz?"

"Nope. Just wonderin' if there was any particular reason that you were rattling the troops today, Prowler?"

Prowl must have had a blank (blanker than normal) look on his face because the saboteur obligingly dipped his head and nodded it toward the main area of the rec room. Just about every off-duty bot in there was watching him quite closely while doing their best to not seem like it.

Optics blinking slowly, he turned his attention back to the other black and white. "I am merely refueling on my break between meetings and catching up on the day's correspondence." The second did his best to keep the statement as neutral and bored-sounding as possible. Of course, he had not counted on that always unknown _Jazz_ variable. The other mech smirked before shaking his helm.

"Yeah, but you always do that from within the safe confines of your office or quarters. This is new territory for you."

The saboteur flickered his visor in the Cybertronian equivalent of a wink and Prowl simply shook his head in amusement. No matter what he said, the other always knew how to pick apart his statements for what he was not saying.

"It was convenient to stop by here for my energon and, as you have pointed out, I do not often make an appearance in the common area, so I thought it might serve to keep our local criminal element on their toes."

The other mech simply smiled and shook his head, getting the hint that the tactician was not ready to reveal his plan to him, yet. There was, of course always later for him to try coercing the info out of the stoic mech.

"Fine, okay. Be mysterious. Catch up with you after your shift?"

Prowl couldn't have stopped the smile from blossoming on his face if he tried. "Of course, Jazz. Until then?"

"Yup. Catch ya later, Prowler!"

The second watched his friend make a dramatic exit, always the life of the room before sighing wistfully. Every moment he spent around the other mech made his spark pulse in excitement and his processors run in cycles. Turning his attention back to the datapad in-hand, the tactician settled himself back into his earlier position, doing his best to be inconspicuous. Gradually the chatter of the rest of the room rose to its earlier volume, prior to his entry and the black and white did his best to not express his satisfaction.

The everyday behaviors of mechs were best observed as covertly as possible. His earlier research on the World Wide Web had turned up some possible routes for him to take in his plan to seduce his companion. His true intent for being in the main break room for the Ark was to listen in on the various conversations that would hopefully be casually going on. The tactician now knew what was considered attractive and enticing to humans (probably more than he ever had wanted or intended to), but he needed to know what was attractive to the general populace of Autobots as well to complete the picture.

Knowing that he had at least a few hours worth of research to do, the door-winged mech did his best to prepare himself as he settled into his corner and proceeded to observe.

* * *

Four hours later and Prowl was thoroughly unimpressed. Apparently a good majority of mechs under him found curb appeal to be equitable to the number of cubes of high grade one could imbibe in one sitting. That or who had throttled the most cons in the last battle. Definitely not what he had been hoping for when he original laid out his plan.

Shaking his chevroned helm in frustration, the tactician made his way down the hall towards the officer's quarters in the hopes that he would be able to regroup his thoughts. Just as he prepared to turn the last corner before his quarters he caught sight of a flash of yellow out of the corner of his optic. Thinking quickly and before he could back out of it, Prowl called out to the mech.

"Sunstreaker!"

The other bot turned in surprise at to who was calling him, although that did not stop him from giving the tactician his customary scowl.

"What?" …and so the black and white asked.

The expression on Sunstreaker's faceplates at his inquiry was 'priceless'. He would have to revisit that memory cache for further amusement later. The warrior was clearly flabbergasted and possibly had gone into mild shock over what his commanding officer had just asked him.

Having to clear the static out of his vocalizer a couple of times, the yellow bot asked with no small amount of incredulity, "WHAT?"

Clearly unfazed by his subordinate's reaction, the tactician repeated his question slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted sparkling. "I said, 'What do you find attractive about me?'"

For a second time in as many minutes, the normally sharp-tongued mech merely stood there gaping at him. When no further response appeared to be forthcoming, Prowl continued, "I need you to tell me particularly which of my attributes are attractive—specifically my top two features."

Optics set wide, Sunstreaker finally seemed to get over the loop in his processor about the impossibility and improbability of the question. Hesitantly he responded, "…and why do you want to know? Scratch that. Why are you asking _me_?"

"Why I need to know is none of your concern. Why I am asking you should be fairly obvious. You seem to have an optic for what is aesthetically pleasing, which I can only surmise must stem from your past, but I digress."

The sunshine yellow mech gave his superior another look of confusion, taking in the bland and slightly aloof expression of the other that offered no further hint or clue as to his reasoning. Finally accepting the oddity of the situation, he simply shrugged and gave into the second's request, walking a slow circle around the tactician, looking him up and down as is he were some kind of art piece. It took the mech a few minutes to complete his circuit and even once he was facing Prowl, Sunstreaker did not say anything. He merely stared at him with a far-away expression as if contemplating something monumental.

Prowl did his best to keep up a stoic front, but inside he was squirming. This was not exactly in his comfort zone, but he felt it best if his subordinate was not privy to that particular piece of information.

Nodding once to himself in decision, the frontliner leveled his gaze at the tactician before launching into his critique.

"Well, overall your features are decent, if not a little understated. The paint job is a bit basic, but I really don't think another color will suit you. You at least upkeep yourself, which is a plus, but when is the last time that you had a professional wax done? Honestly. As far as most attractive features goes, I think it is probably the more unique aspects of your appearance that 'stand out' or at least stand out on you. The door wings, of course for one, and the red of your chevron draws attention to your faceplates, which aren't the worst to look at."

The black and white blinked once, taking the time to process the unusually long soliloquy by Sunstreaker before turning it over with the data that he had already collected from the rec room and internet. What he didn't notice was the considering look the yellow mech was giving him, as he mulled over his thoughts. Rubbing his finely-sculpted chin, the frontliner announced (as if it was the most important thing in the world), "You want to look hot for Jazz, don't you?"

The sly look that he sent the tactician only caused Prowl to look even more mortified at being caught. Before he could protest the blatant accusation, Sunstreaker simply waved off his imitation of a choking fish and continued.

"Don't worry. I won't tell him, but if you're really that serious about looking good you should at least let me fix you up. Believe me; I know _exactly_ what a mech likes." This was said with a rather lecherous grin tacked on at the end that had the black and white's faceplates inadvertently heating up. Prowl could not move as his logic center threatened to lock up at all of the conflicting responses his emotional center was sending.

Completely oblivious to the second's internal struggle and nodding resolutely again to himself, Sunstreaker grabbed Prowl's arm, unceremoniously guiding him down the hall towards the wash racks. This was all done with much aplomb, in spite of the senior mech's sputtering and attempts to free himself from the warrior's grasp.

* * *

Prowl found himself in Sunstreaker's clutches for the better part of the day cycle and found himself uncharacteristically wishing for a Decepticon assault (or at least some kind of Sideswipe-related incident—paperwork and all). Once the warrior had deemed his self-appointed task of "Prettying-Up Prowl" complete to the best of his abilities and he was (finally!) released, the tactician sought out the safety of his office to hide in for the remainder of his day. He would have probably stayed in there well into the night shift as well had he not been reminded why he had submitted to the earlier torture. A communiqué came over Teletran One's general channel announcing the return of the afternoon's patrol.

The recessed lighting of the Ark danced merrily along swatches of glossy black and white amour as the tactician strode with purpose to the front entrance. Prowl mused that is were to look down at his chest plate right then he more than likely would have been able to see his own face reflected back. The tactician was…in a word…_shiny_. And now he was back on track with his original plan to gain Jazz's attention and greatly monopolize the saboteur's off-time. The appreciative looks that followed him as he made his way to the base's entrance were not lost on him. He supposed he would need to find a way to thank the vain and haughty frontliner for his help after all was said and done.

He could worry about that later. In the setting light of the sun, a pair of oval headlights set into a low-slung sports car made their way to where he casually leaned against their ship's outer wall. Following close behind the Porsche was a less streamlined yellow vehicle who came to a stop several yards from Prowl's position and next to the saboteur. The two transformed, Bumblebee smiling broadly and waving to the tactician while chatting amicably to his superior as they made their way into the Ark.

Jazz had just reached Prowl's side and seemed to be in the process of noticing his "new look" (the tactician's spark thrummed anxiously in his chest as he waited for the third's reaction) when the most Primus-forsaken bellowing reached their audios. Wincing and turning towards the source, the winged mech had just enough time to push Jazz and Bumblebee to the side as a stampede of jostling, roaring Dinobots thundered past—caked in mud from helm to clawed pede from their adventures outside—the same mud that was now liberally covering Prowl, starting with his formerly brilliant crimson chevron.

The saurian mechs seemed to not notice the Autobots that they had nearly mowed down, so caught up in the after affect of their play time. Jazz, on the other hand, immediately picked up on the storm clouds that seemed to figuratively be collecting over his beau. Both he and the minibot could on gape for a few minutes before the other black and white (looking thoroughly disgusted) flicked his door wings once and muttered (_muttered!_) something about heading to the wash racks.

The saboteur could only stare dumbly at his retreating backplates, trying to figure out what he had just missed.

Alone in his quiet security room, Red Alert succumbed to his laughter, promising himself to show the footage Inferno later.

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_A/N #2 - Hope that wasn't too long to read and was at least a little fun. Please let me know what you think (the good and the bad). Thanks!_


	3. Chapter 02, Love and Energon Goodies

**To Seduce a Porsche (****Part 2****)**

Transformers (G1) Verse  
Rating: PG…so far :)  
Characters: Prowl, Jazz

_A/N: In which Prowl attempts to be spontaneous while staying in his comfort zone._

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Transformers, so nyah._

_A/N 2.0: SUPER mega-huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, fav'd, alerted, etc. It feeds the bunnies that gnaw at my brain and I very much appreciate it! ^_^_

* * *

**Attempt #2 – Plan a romantic encounter—keep him guessing and be a little mysterious. Try a candlelit dinner at your home.**

* * *

Yellow and red danced playfully alongside each other never ceasing in their movement, but never completely overwhelming or smothering the other. The two worked in such tandem on their singular goal that one might say they were created for one another.

_If only that were the case with a pair of red and yellow Lamborghinis_, the tactician mused to himself. He had been absently watching the play of light of the small flames as they flickered against the natural airflow in his room, waiting for the other to arrive. Once again he checked his chrono and once again it showed only a few minutes difference from the last and previous times that he had made the same gesture. Realizing that watching the time was logically not making it go by any faster, Prowl pushed his chair away from the small table to stand and stretch.

It was not as though the saboteur was late. Rather, the Second had been on-time for once in getting off-shift (Ratchet would surely freeze up over that knowledge) and since all of his preparation had been done prior to going on shift earlier that day, well… Suffice it to say, it had taken him little time to set up his room to his liking for what he had planned. That was also the main reason that he had been so punctual in leaving his office. The last hour of his regular duty cycle had been the pits as he tried to do his usual analytical work all the while being distracted by what was awaiting him that evening. Light blue optics once again scanned the sparse space of his state room, ensuring that nothing had been missed.

Table and two chairs placed in the middle of the room near a port window to enable proper 'bathing in moonlight'? Check.

Over-sized human candles (_and he had had a pit of a time procuring them on such short notice_) lit and centered on the table to create an aesthetically pleasing light and relaxed atmosphere? Check.

Vintage high grade hailing from Vos and a plate of freshly-made energon confections? Double-check.

With nothing better to do to pass the time until his date arrived, the tactician found his thoughts lingering on his previous attempt. His battle computer helpfully supplied a 35 percentile chance of a similarly disastrous evening occurring tonight, but thankfully that was lower than it had been. By choosing to conduct this date in the confines of his room, he had eliminated nearly 30 percent of the risk associated with the original plan he had proposed. Apparently there were a great many factors external to his room that could be deemed as 'unsafe' to conducting a date and seduction attempt with the Porsche.

* * *

After leaving Jazz at the Ark's entrance last night and trashing his well-thought-out plans for seduction, Prowl had retreated to his room to rinse the Dinobot-inflicted mud off of his person and pretty much sulk the remainder of the lovely evening away.

There was no point in denying that he had a private pity party for himself once he was safely within the confines of his private wash rack. The red clay had been a pain to rinse off and actually quite painful to remove from his joints and the space between armor plating. By the time he was satisfied that he no longer looked like Trailbreaker after one of his joyous romps in the woods, the tactician had worked through his anger, frustration and regret and could now solely focus on how utterly pathetic he felt. This was further more rammed into the forefront of his CPU when he stopped in front of the small sink in the wash chamber after his shower—the very same sink that had started this fiasco—and realized that all of Sunstreaker's work on him had been a complete waste. Not only was he liberally dinged up and scratched from removing the mud, he had not even had the chance to get any sort of reaction from Jazz.

Now thoroughly clean and utterly demoralized, Prowl trudged toward the recharge berth that sat braced against the far wall of his quarters. For a moment, he simply stood there staring at the gray mattress of the berth dully before he proceeded to fall face-first into the firm padding.

The woven metal mesh that made up the surface of the recharge pad was slightly rough against the softer dermal of his faceplates. Wearily he rolled to his side and contemplated the Ark's orange wall that lay opposite from his prone form. It took a great amount of energy (mostly willpower) to remove the datapad from his subspace and even more to online his optics, but the tactician managed. Frowning, he skipped reading the first few lines of his tactical seduction plan (no need to revisit that mess again) and moved onto the next option on his list.

"_Plan a romantic dinner." Well that does not work particularly well for me._ Prowl thought miserably.

Outright glaring at the handheld device, he tried to deduce some logical (and practical) way of accomplishing the suggestion. It was not as though Cybertronians had an extensive repertoire of sustenance that they partook in. Additionally, this was a military base and thus their energon was typically rationed and provided at the lowest grade required to keep soldiers running.

However…they were now on a planet rich with energy resources. Energy resources which, with the combined efforts of Wheeljack and Perceptor, they had managed to unobtrusively harvest producing a variety of energon grades. This meant that not only did the Ark Autobots have decent energon to drink, the surplus was there to occasionally create military-grade energon goodies as a treat and reward for the mechs.

Facial expression inadvertently softening, the tactician's memories drifted to a much earlier and simpler time in his life when one of his creators would patiently let him help to make energon goodies. As a sparkling, he truly was no good at the creation and baking of them, but afterwards they always enjoyed the sweet treats together. Even now, the thought of those times long past brought warmth to his spark.

_Perhaps…_Prowl frowned slightly as he turned the idea that was forming in his CPU on its axis and examined it. It was not _exactly_ what the web site meant that he had come across in his research. However, it was a feasible approach—the recipes and techniques that his creator had painstakingly taught him were still safely stored in his memory banks. A more personal approach definitely appealed to the tactician as one of the original outcomes that he hoped to achieve from his seduction was to make the saboteur feel special and appreciated.

The fact that some energon goodies were rumored to be aphrodisiacs was a nice side bonus.

* * *

_Later that week..._

A flash of black and white in his peripheral had Jazz carefully tilting his head to better take in the other mech who had just entered the rec room. Prowl's graceful form quietly made its way toward the energon dispenser—door wings held high and primly on his back. As the tactician turned to leave the room just as quickly as he had arrived—ration in-hand—he caught optics...er...visor with the saboteur sitting on one of the couches. A soft smile was directed towards the seated mech.

Spark fluttering softly in his chassis, Jazz returned the smile with his own more than likely sappy one. Exchange done, the other black and white was out the door before Jazz could blink more than likely on his way back to his office. He couldn't help, but shake his helm at the other mech's obsession with routine. But now he had the strange joy of being considered a part of that routine.

Settling back into the plump couch cushions, the saboteur had a moment to relax before he felt more than saw the bright yellow mech who seemed materialize out of nowhere into his personal space. Tilting his black helm back, the saboteur took in the sunshine mech now leaning casually against his end of the couch. _Too casually._

"Hey Sunny, what's up?"

Smirking, Sunstreaker responded. "Oh, not much. _Sooooo_...how was last night?"

"Last night, wha'?" The smaller mech cocked his helm to the side, but did not return the smirk that the frontliner was sending him.

"Oh, you know. Did you and Prowl do anything _fun_?" Grin now outright wicked, Jazz could only look more confused.

"I have no clue what you're goin' on about, Sunstreaker, but Prowl was busy. He had to clean off all the muck that the Dinobots got on him when they were runnin' around last night and my shift had just ended."

The yellow and black mech's faceplates fell and then suddenly turned very dark, entirely different from the teasing attitude he had held just a few seconds ago. Wondering what he had said wrong, as well as if he was about to suffer the frontliner's legendary wrath, Jazz subtly leaned away from the mech.

Light blue optics suddenly focused upon him at the movement and the saboteur knew what it felt like to be an insect under a microscope. Wanting to avoid having his plating forcefully rearranged, the saboteur held up his servos in a placating gesture. "Did I say somethin' wrong?"

There was an inarticulate growl and an engine rev from the tall, yellow mech as he absolutely seethed before clenching his fists, turning smartly around and storming out of the room. Any unfortunate mech in his path to the exit was mowed down.

Shaking his head while letting out a small sigh of relief as he watched the other go, Jazz attempted to settle back and clear his now very confused CPU.

Being the day for interruptions, he only had gotten an hour or so of television in before an internal chirp sounded in his audios making the black and white jump as if he had received a shock from a cattle prod. Thankfully, the other mechs in the room were not interested in what he was doing, or at least did not act that way. Frowning, he pressed a black digit to the side of is audio horn, initiating a one-on-one connection.

"Jazz here."

"Hello Jazz." A low, smooth voice echoed in his audios. "I am not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh, hey Prowler! Nah, I am still chilling in the rec room. What can I do for ya?"

"I was just...curious if you are busy later?" Was it just his imagination, or did Prowl sound nervous?

"Nope! My evening's all free." The saboteur replied cheerily.

"Would you be up for joining me at my quarters later?" Unadulterated, many less than G-rated thoughts flew through the saboteur's processor at the invite. Bad Jazz!

Instead, he replied (in what he felt was a reasonably level voice), "Well, sure! I'd love to come by."

"Wonderful. I will see you at 2100 then." The tactician almost sounded excited in his sign off.

Shaking his helm, then promptly stopping as Jazz realized he was making a habit of it, the saboteur leant back and let his imagination mull over more pleasant thoughts. With a small frown, he realized that Prowl had never said exactly why he was coming over. Strange...

* * *

_Later that night..._

Door wings twitching intermittently now, the tactician could not help, but pace around his living space. The saboteur should be there at any moment and for once in his very long life, Prowl was _nervous_. If this night went according to plan, his relationship to Jazz would be forever changed and he anticipated it being for the better.

The door charmed once and a cheery knock followed letting the Datsun know exactly who was waiting to be let in. Half consciously smoothing down his front, he let the Porsche in, stepping aside to let him get a full view of the room. Jazz smiled kindly to him before passing by and stopped mid-step.

A low whistle came out of the saboteur's vocal processor as he took in the setup.

"Wow. _Nice_ Prowler." He turned back towards the tactician. The gentle glow of candlelight along his frame was an utterly captivating sight to Prowl and the tactician was hard-pressed to not sigh out loud.

Smiling shyly, he extended his servo towards the small table that the saboteur had initially missed in his once-over. "I am glad that you like it. Please, sit down."

"Don't mind if I do." Sitting promptly in the seat across from the doorwinged mech, he took in the room again. For some reason, the natural lighting made the place feel more...organic if that were possible.

Clearing his vocals (and subsequently gaining the other black and white's attention) Prowl poured some of the high grade first into Jazz's cube, and then into his own. The saboteur smiled in thanks before carefully sipping at it. Visor flickering, a small shudder went through his frame before he vented long and low.

"Very nice, Prowler. This is some good stuff. Mirage's?"

Sampling a little of his own, Prowl savored the rush of warmth to his systems before responding. "Actually, no. I forgot that I had this bottled lying around in my personal store. I was saving it for a special occasion."

"Oh? And what would that 'special occasion' be, hmm?" The Porsche leaned his elbow joints on the edge of the table and delicately placed his chin on clasped ebony servos.

Ducking his helm slightly, the Datsun looked up at him from beneath his crimson chevron. "I would think that would be obvious." Saying that, he nodded his head in his guest's direction. If the saboteur could have blushed, he would definitely be doing so then. As it was, his optics averted slightly, falling upon the array of energon goodies that lay on a plate between them.

Smiling, the door-winged mech took this his cue to bridge on to his next plot piece.

"They are from recipes that my creator taught me as a youngling. Some of my fondest memories are from when they used to help me make energon confections."

Nodding, the saboteur reached to take one before hesitating. Glancing back up at his friend (well, boyfriend if he wanted to be technical) he asked, "May I?"

"Please do."

The first bite of the treat was a hesitant thing. Prowl imagined that the intensity in which he was watching the saboteur sample the confection that he had spent hours creating by hand was more than likely causing some discomfort to the other mech. He could not help it, though. His field was in flux as he waited with bated breath to see if Jazz would enjoy what he had created, or if this would be another colossal failure.

The smile that immediately blossomed across the other black and white's faceplates could not have been contrived.

"Wow. These are great, Prowler. Where'd ya find the time for all this?" Jazz asked as he practically swallowed the remaining two-thirds of the treat in his eagerness.

Smiling softly, the Datsun replied, "Between shifts. I managed to find the right ingredients and proper heating and cooling units that I could make use of, so..." he gestured towards the heaping plate of energon treats.

"Wow. I would have never figured you for a baker." Jazz teased the doorwinged mech lightly, still clearly impressed.

One white servo delicately plucked an electric green energon goodie from the platter and brought it to the tactician's lip plates. Sensors lining his mouth quickly provided the analysis that, although it did not taste as good as he remembered his creator's being, it was still adequately enjoyable none-the-less. He realized that part of that judgment could be just remaining perceptions from when he was a sparkling. Turning his attention back to his companion, the black and white watched as the Porsche retrieved another goodie from the dish, optics flickering off as he savored the morsel. Heat rushed through the tactician's circuits as he watched those black digits slowly disappear into Jazz's mouth one by one as he cleaned the sweet crystals leftover off of his servo.

Lips parting, Prowl found himself mesmerized by the sight. He had not even realized that he had been staring until the other mech abruptly looked up, meeting his entranced gaze. This close, he could make out the vague outline of the other's optics through the blue-hued visor as they widened, then turned upwards slightly in the corners, complementing the shy smile adorning the other's faceplates.

Glossa half-consciously wetting his own lip plates, Prowl reached for the next brightly-hued goodie—this one light fuschia-and held it gently aloft towards the saboteur.

"These ones have a little rust mixed in to give them some bite. You should try one." He was surprised at how rough his vocals sounded to his audios. Almost...husky? Feeling a sudden bought of uncertainty at his own actions, the tactician started to pull his hand away. It did not get far. A slightly larger black servo quickly encompassed his own paler one, stopping its retreat mid-air.

Smile now broadening to the more confident, cocky grin that Prowl was familiar with seeing on the saboteur, Jazz carefully took the bite-sized piece from the tips of suddenly slack fingertips...with his mouth. Wondering how his control of the situation was so quickly fleeting, the tactician tried to clear his fuzzy processors—he needed to regain the upper hand if things were to go according to his plan.

The visored mech released the servo he had been cradling and predictability (at least by his battle computer's assessment) retrieved the next goodie for him. Staring at the faintly glowing blue cube that was being offered, a very devious idea struck the normally stoic and conservative mech. Being careful to maintain optic contact with his date, Prowl made as if to take a bite of the treat, but instead slightly overshot the edge wrapping his lip plates around warm, black digits.

The confident expression fell from the saboteur's face around the same time as he took to imitating a statue. From the fingertips that he now held, the Datsun could feel a minute tremble travel through the Porsche's frame, as well as a low gasp of ventilators. Very slowly, he drug his mouth away from the outstretched fingers, tongue curling lazily around them, sliding along joints and delicate wiring as he sucked the energon goodie right out of Jazz's grasp.

There was a sharp crackle as the brilliant cerulean light of the other mech's visor flashed and surged with energy. Emboldened, the tactician uncharacteristically smirked and grabbed the limp, dark servo...and proceeded to thoroughly clean each individual digit with great gusto. The Porsche seemed to lose all cognitive capabilities at that point—at least his speech seemed to be impaired.

Once he was satisified with the gooeyness of the saboteur's processes, Prowl neatly released his hand. "Your digits were still covered in dust. It would ruin the _flavor_ of the other treats if you were to touch them. We would not want that now, would we?" He fairly purred the last statement out. Jazz's head quickly shook from side to side in agreement.

Perhaps this whole "seduction" thing was not as difficult as he had originally concluded. He certainly seemed to be doing the trick this time as the Porsche seemed unable to focus on anything, but him. A difficult feat for one as...easily distracteable as the saboteur had a habit of being.

Deciding that "the mood" had been effectively achieved, Prowl pressed his advantage—right into Jazz's personal space. Leaning over the small table, his silver lip plates hovered scant inches from the other's, their venting mingling pleasantly for one still moment. Then Jazz was meeting him in the middle and the delicious slide of smooth dermal metal on metal greeted his sensors. Seemingly effortlessly, they fell into an easy rhythm exchanging different turns and curves of lips and the pulse of glossae.

The door-winged mech's optics shuttered of their own accord as he relished the sensation of the saboteur's mouth. There was a warm silkiness to the inside metal that was altogether foreign to him and yet oh so sinfully moist. He felt more than heard the other mech moan deeply into their liplock, muted vibrations tingling along his audio receptors.

Plate of goodies forgotten, he made as if to pull the other mech closer...only to have a loud rumble abruptly break the sound of sultry purring that had been building in the room from their two engines. Both mechs jumped and pulled back, twin looks of confusion aimed at the other. The chugging, misaligned sound rumbled up again from the mech across the table. Looking slightly guilty, Jazz rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly at the perplexed look that Prowl knew he was shooting him. That lopsided grin vanished alarmingly quick as Jazz suddenly hunched over with a groan, arms wrapping tightly around his midsection.

The tactician shot up out of his chair in haste, knocking it over carelessly as he reached for the other mech in concern. That concern quickly turned to gritted denta as he too was forced to bow over as some unknown, sharp pain originating in his middle shot through him. Barely getting a breath in, the doorwinged mech hailed the CMO over the emergency line. A cranky "WHAT?" greeted him and he barely had enough time to gasp out the medics name before keeling over, colliding with the table on his way down . Semi-soft, gooey treats rained down around and upon him in a bright rainbow of color before the floor rushed up to greet him.

Belatedly, before his systems forced the blackness of stasis onto him, Prowl realized two things; One, the plate of energon goodies he had worked so hard on was shattered, the treats wasted on the metal flooring; and two, he was not alone on the ground.

* * *

Prowl stared miserably up at the pumpkin-orange ceiling above him, willing himself to be anywhere, but in this position.

His misery did not stem from the steady ache that still filled his fuel tanks—a feeling somewhere between having too much in them and too little to run on. No, the dark cloud hanging above him was a result of the predicament that he had somehow managed to land both himself and Jazz in.

Daring a glance at the only other occupant of the med bay, he could see the black and white plating of the saboteur, as well as the gentle curve of his hood on a berth several rows down. He suspected that the placement of their forms had less to do with chance and more to do with a certain medic. Thankfully, Jazz was still under the heavy hand of Ratchet's sedation and would hopefully remain that way until the pains of a fully pumped and flushed tank no longer were of an issue. He was half-tempted to ask the CMO to make sure that Jazz was able to 'sleep' through it anyways as a sort of silent apology.

That, however was unlikely. As thick with the sedatives as the boxy red and white mech could be when he was concerned, he could be equally stingy when the injury was the result of carelessness or sheer stupidity. The tactician latently wondered which category this would fall into. Perhaps both? It was his fault after all that the two of them had gotten a rather nasty case of tank posioning. He had failed to check the half-life on one of the minerals that he had used when creating the energon goodies and as a result had not realized that it had turned.

Venting a sigh, he nearly jumped when a shadow fell over him. Still morose, he stared blankly at the visage above him.

Optic ridge raising as the opposite optic narrowed, Ratchet glared down at the prone tactician. "Don't look like that, Prowl. It could have been much worse."

"I find that difficult to believe, Ratchet."

"Ha! You do now, but believe me that having your tanks pumped is getting off lightly." The medic stopped his too close inspection of the Datsun, straightening up to look at the monitors set above his medical berth.

"If you say so." Prowl grumbled.

"I do and you had better slagging well listen to me." Task done, the red and white mech directed his attention fully toward his patient. The tactician physically seemed to be doing fine. When he had first received Prowl's urgent comm. the medic had nearly flown out of his bay to the location of the other bot's beacon. The sight that greeted him upon entering the great room of the Datsun's quarters caused him to stumble to a halt momentarily.

There were candles literally everywhere in varying stages of burning out. On the floor next to an overturned table and chair he found both their second and third-in-command stasis-locked. Fearing Decepticon infiltration, he was halfway to comm'ing Ironhide and Red Alert when his processor caught up with him and helpfully supplied the other half of the equation.

Oh. So THAT is what they were doing.

Now a little less stressed, he calmly requested Wheeljack's presence while running primary scans over the two black and white forms. By the time that the engineer had made it from his lab to Prowl's room, Ratchet had deduced that they were both suffering from some form of energon poisoning. Having a few suspicions, he had snagged a couple of the goodies scattered/splattered upon the cool, metal floor and subspaced them, before picking up the tactician as his friend did the same with the saboteur.

Thankfully, the source of the poisioning had been easy to identify and mild, just painful and a complete clearing of their tanks had righted the problem.

"Look, there's no harm done, right? I doubt if Jazz will hold any grudge, so you should just let it go, Prowl." He wasn't any good at these kinds of reassurances, but considering that the doorwinged mech looked to be on the verge of a deep depression, Ratchet felt slightly obligated to do something.

"Let it go? Hmm. Yes, I suppose that would be the right thing to do." The black and white had a far away look on his features as he mellowly responded.

Realizing how the second had interpreted what he had just said, the CMO was quick to correct him. "What? No! That is completely not what I meant so get your head out of your aft. Just...try to do something a little more in your comfort zone next time, hmm? It really shouldn't take much to convince Jazz to jump your circuits." The last part of had a heavy dose of sarcasm applied to it. It was no secret how fixated the saboteur was on the tactician, made even stronger now that the two were officially and "item."

"Go back to recharge, Prowl. I will bring you two online tomorrow morning." One red servo reached for the controls above the berth as the formerly prone mech struggled to sit up and stop him.

"But!"

"Good night, Prowl." And with a flip of a switch, the tactician's systems slowed to a relaxed state and the black and white drifted off. Hopefully, things would look better for him in the morning.

* * *

_A/N – Okay, so that was a wee bit longer than expected, but hopefully satisfactory. Just a quickie other disclaimer—I did not invent 'energon goodies/confections', nor do I know who did, but kudos to them. Hope that you enjoyed! :D_


	4. Chapter 03, Show Me the Moves

**To Seduce a Porsche (**Part 3**)**

Transformers (G1) Verse  
Rating: PG-ish  
Characters: Prowl, Jazz

Warnings: MechxMech and all that it implies

_A/N: Being a master of one art does not necessarily mean that you are the master of another._

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* * *

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**Attempt #3 – Use a little music to help seduce your crush. Learn to Dance. Even if he's not light on his feet, he'll enjoy grabbing your waist and twirling you around. Get more practice and as a bonus use it as an excuse to keep touching each other. A slow dance can set the mood bringing you both closer to that moment of arousal.**

Irritable did not even begin to describe the way that Prowl was feeling. Upset, depressed and utterly humiliated seemed to be warring for the number one spot in his emotional cortex. Although, if he stopped for more than an astrosecond to absorb his emotions, the tactician would realize that (logically speaking) there really was no need to feel humiliated (at the very least). Other than Ratchet, Wheeljack and, of course, Jazz, none of the other Autobots knew why Prowl and the saboteur had an overnight stay in the med bay.

The Datsun had been extremely apologetic to the mostly bemused Porsche, but Jazz would have none of his contrition. He merely (unknowingly) reiterated what Ratchet had told Prowl earlier—it was not his fault, and up until the unscheduled visit to get their tanks purged, the evening had been rather nice.

Both he and the saboteur had resumed there next shifts as is nothing was amiss, but Prowl still felt that he had failed in more ways than one.

When he finally returned to his quarters that afternoon (he had no time to do so after being discharged from Ratchet's domain and did not need a late start to his shift on top of everything else) the mess that greeted him was enough to cause the tactician to have a very uncharacteristic mini-temper. That, of course, lead to further cleaning that needed to be done, but at least he had gotten the fit somewhat out of his system.

'Somewhat' was the operative word because here he was in the middle of the sparring room late in the evening trying to work through his most basic Diffusion exercises. Not having such simple forms flow easily from his frame further compounded his inner frustration. Stopping for the umpteempth time in the middle of a form, the black and white straightened out. Venting hot air sharply, he attempted to release some of the building tension in his chassis before settling back into a more open and balanced stance.

Prowl let the gentle hum of the Ark's systems and the low murmur of bots enjoying themselves in the recreation room wash over him. He let his optics shutter, focusing on the elevated pulse of his spark and gently drew air into his frame before just as quietly venting it out. A good amount of time passed as the doorwinged mech continued to take slow, deep breaths, but finally the tactician's systems fell into their usual cadence. His own spark beat now a soothing rhythm in his audios.

Not wanting to break the stillness that he had finally reached, Prowl kept his optics off and swept his right arm directly into a low block before turning slightly to deliver a 'blow' with his left. Door wings swept back, but held low and close, he turned to use his forearm to block another imaginary foe before countering again just as smoothly.

The path he weaved across the mats became a pattern of deadly forms executed effortlessly. He did not know how long he battled his non-existent foes, as well as himself, but the pulse of another's spark eventually broke through the blanket of silence that had encompassed his processor. Turning towards the source, Prowl onlined his optics just as he fell into a relaxed stance to face his watcher.

Jazz's soft smile greeted him warmly from where he leant casually against the wall along the outskirts of the mat. The saboteur's entire countenance said 'casual', but the intensity in which his visor focused on Prowl betrayed otherwise.

"Hey there."

"Good evening, Jazz."

"Those were some impressive moves Prowler."

Ducking his helm somewhat abashedly at the unexpected praise, Prowl smiled softly back at the other black and white. "Thank you. It has been some time since I have been able to practice. I fear that I may have grown a bit rusty at some of my forms."

Shaking his head from side to side, Jazz pushed away from the wall and strolled closer to the object of his affections.

"Not from where I was standin'. I think the rumors about ya being a Master of Diffusion may be along the right lines. Then again, it's hard to imagine ya doin' anythin' less than perfect…or lookin' anythin' less than perfect." Here the saboteur slid his gaze languorously from jet black pede to pearl white helm making the tactician's internals heat when their optics met.

About the same time something clicked in Prowl's helm and a new seduction plan (version 3.0 if he recalled correctly) was coming into shape within the clever strategist's CPU. Clearing his vocals, Prowl ventured an invitation to the visored mech.

"Would you perhaps like to learn some Diffusion, Jazz?"

Visor lighting up like a Christmas tree, the saboteur nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I would, especially if I get to learn it at the hands of the best."

Stepping onto the mats opposite of the chevroned mech almost within grasping distance Jazz crouched slightly, readying himself for whatever the tactician would dish out.

Shaking his helm in mirth, Prowl stepped forward and grasped the saboteur's forearms, pulling Jazz into a more relaxed, upright position. "First you need to get a few of the basic forms down pat before we can spar, Jazz."

With a sheepish chuckle, the saboteur absently scratched the back of his helm. "Sorry Prowler. I'm just eager to learn."

"Of course."

The first form took a little of trial and error on both Jazz's and Prowl's parts as the saboteur tried and failed to copy the steady grace of the tactician and the tactician tried to position himself best to help the saboteur. Once Jazz had the rhythm of the first movements, the second and third forms came a little easier for him. Prowl found that if he first showed, then directed the saboteur's movements Jazz was very good at remembering and emulating him. That was to be expected though—a good saboteur is light on his pedes with a mind like a mirrored backup server.

As a reward for his focus, the Datsun allowed his companion a few brief sparring matches using Diffusion. Jazz's sleek form moved well against his own chassis and Prowl nearly lost a match due to THAT particular distraction. Finally, the two mechs called it quits when they realized how late the hour had gone.

"You did quite well, Jazz. Have you learned any Diffusion before?"

"Thanks man. Nah, just watching ya move reminded me of some kind o' dance, just with slightly more…complicated moves. Once I started thinkin' of things that way, it was a little easier to pick up."

"I must concur with your comparison. Although, I have to say in all of the time that I have practiced Diffusion, I have never actually attempted to dance."

"Really? A talented mech like ya'self? Mech, why didn't ya say so? I've got a smorgasbord of moves in here." With that the saboteur shook his black hips to emphasize the point. "I could teach ya everything ya ever needed to know and then some."

Feeling a small amount of what could only be described as glee, the tactician kept his expression neutral as his love interest took his carefully planted bait. Prowl did not respond immediately, appearing to consider the suggestion carefully and somewhat hesitantly (to seem too eager would make the observant saboteur suspicious). The other black and white started to squirm in his impatience and the tactician took pity upon him.

"Very well, Jazz. Although…I would prefer to learn some place a little less…public if that is alright with you?"

"Of course, mech! How 'bout my place? I have plenty of tunes on file that ya can learn from and no one around to know otherwise." The Porsche seemed very eager in his proposal and his enthusiasm was catching for the Datsun.

"That will be fine. When are you available for a lesson?" Quite casually, Prowl added on "Today is thankfully my short shift, so I have some scheduled free time this evening…if you are amenable?"

"Sounds like a plan. It's a date, then!"

The pair of mechs wore matching smiles (something that would have disturbed many an Autobot on one in particular) and graced each other with a gentle kiss or two goodnight before parting ways to retire to their own quarters.

Perhaps it was just the stress of a long shift combined with an equally long and physically taxing workout. Or, perhaps it was the clarification of some unfounded fear concerning Jazz, but Prowl was gone to the world the moment that he lay his helm down on his berth. A pleasant recharge greeted him, filled with visions of swaying Jazzes and flashes of black and white plating.

* * *

Subtle vibrations moved along the titanium hull of the Ark, increasing in frequency and volume the closer Prowl's pedes brought him to his destination.

Smiling internally, the tactician mused to himself that although their date was in the privacy of Jazz's quarters, there was little doubt that at least half of the crew would be aware of it. It was part of what he loved about the Porsche. The mech was so completely at ease within his own armor that he felt free to do anything anywhere and at anytime. It was such a contrast to how Prowl felt he could behave around others.

Being the Autobot's second in command came with a heavy price. The tactician had found (even long ago during his vorns as an enforcer) that the best way for him to keep order amongst those he commanded was to model that behavior himself. By keeping a tight rein on his emotional state outside the privacy of his room and limiting the depth of his social interactions, the Datsun was able to be the model mech that other bots needed.

Mechs looked at you to make the right decisions in all facets of your life as their lives depended upon the ones you made on the battlefield. Trust above all else was the key to the Autobots' continued success against the Decepticons.

Looking up from his introspection, the Datsun realized that he had reached Jazz's quarters without any real conscious guidance. Some actions just seemed to be made on an instinctual level.

Calling the Porsche over his intercom, Prowl received a cheery "come in" before the metal door slid soundlessly to the side allowing him entry into Jazz's domain. The door-winged mech was immediately immersed in a vibrant beat that played along his sensor panels, sending shivers down his spinal column.

The Datsun only had a moment to turn his helm in search of his companion before a bright blue visor swept into view, grabbing both of his hands and pulling him into a turn. Pearl white pedes stumbling embarrassingly, the tactician tried to regain his footing while following the saboteur's swirling lead. The black and white Porsche was obviously enjoying himself and had been apparently doing so long before Prowl had shown up.

The saboteur couldn't help, but chuckle at his dance partner. The tactician had a grimace on his face as he intently watched what the Porsche's lower frame was doing. "Easy there Prowler. This isn't a test. Just relax and _feel_ the rhythm."

Optics lifting to the visored mech's hidden ones, Prowl gave a rueful smirk. "I am trying to relax, Jazz. I am afraid that it is taking more processing power than I expected to keep up with you." The door winged mech stumbled slightly right as he finished saying that.

The heady music continued to throb in the background as the racer pulled him back into formation and chuckled lowly at his boyfriend's almost petulant tone. "Well, we are just gonna have to change that," Jazz murmured lowly.

He stopped the tactician for a moment before sliding around the other black and white until his frame was flush between Prowl's door wings. Black hands grasping equally black hip plates, the Porsche began to gently guide the Datsun's movements.

A full body shiver rushed through Prowl's systems as the object of his desire took the lead and pressed himself quite intimately against his chassis. His movements lost some of their choppiness thanks to his dance partner's smooth tutelage, but the faster beat of the music was still too distracting for him to keep pace with. The tactician murmured as much to the saboteur when Jazz asked him if 'this' was better.

Jazz's nasal ridge nuzzled the other black and white's circular audio before stating lowly, "As you wish." The current song switched to something deeper…something _sultry_. Their movements became less of a controlled grind and more of a slow waltz.

Prowl made an encouraging noise at the new selection and felt himself finally start to let go and simply move. The door winged mech smiled as the saboteur moved close, resting his chin on a shoulder plate. The two mechs swayed gently in time with the music flowing around them and through the Porsche's quarters. Pedes barely moved as they both enjoyed the simple physical contact without any pesky interruptions.

Smile flashing to something more devious that the Porsche failed to see, Prowl carefully turned in his arms before bringing his own servos to rest on the coiled black and charcoal sides. Now that he faced the visored mech, the tactician could easily read the soft look that was being given to him. Encouraged Prowl slowly trailed his slender fingertips along the pliable metal at Jazz's waist, not missing the quick intake of breath that resulted.

Taking advantage of the Porsche's distraction, Prowl boldly captured his silver lip plates in a kiss. The saboteur barely stifled a low moan as the tactician thoroughly ravaged his mouth taking the lead of their dance in a different way entirely. Servos did not just sit idle as well. The Datsun took full advantage of his proximity to the other by running his hands over every square inch of Porsche-bodied frame within his grasp.

Their slow dance became something far more _intimate_ as motions stopped being about where to step and became more concerned with what to touch. Their lips remained locked throughout the entire dance, warm air being released through side vents instead of their otherwise occupied intakes. Glossae tangled languidly as the tactician did his best to curl and drag the appendage along every square inch of his partner's mouth. Jazz tasted of crisp silver and slightly spicy copper and Prowl was thoroughly enjoying it. The saboteur ceased being submissive as his hands began to wander as well, teasing broad backplates and squealing along ivory plating.

A low groan reverberated through their joined plating and the door winged mech had difficulty determining who it came from. At the same token, he really did not care to find out at the moment. His attention was completely focused on the sleek mech in his arms that was almost writhing from the Datsun's ministrations. Prowl could feel how taut the thick cabling that ran down the Porsche's lower back was, as well as the heat suffusing from the similarly colored frame.

The saboteur may have been slightly shorter in height than the tactician, but he was much more strongly put together. Prowl's tactile sensors sent pleasant feedback to his CPU as he drug white fingertips over the hard edge of the more thickly-plated hips of his partner. Jazz finally broke their lip lock to tilt his helm back in a gasp. Pleased, Prowl repeated the raking gesture and was rewarded with another gasp followed by a breathy moan.

The tactician's frame was on fire as his sensors fed back every little detail of the saboteur to him. With door wings pushed forward to gather as much data as possible, the Datsun mouthed the thick tubing that made up the Porsche's throat. At the same time he started backing his dance partner towards the berth that lay along the far wall.

Hands gripping the tactician's wings almost roughly, Jazz did not protest the new destination. In fact, if Prowl was reading him correctly, his frame increased in heat output and his intakes seemed to quicken.

And then the Porsche was gasping again…and not in a good way.

Prowl had a moment to blankly wonder what was wrong before the saboteur was suddenly falling into his frame. The momentum toppled the backwards, Jazz's surprised expression following the tactician as they fell. The two mechs landed in a jumble on the hard steel floor of the Ark, with the tactician on the bottom and his partner on top.

Normally that would not have been a bad thing for Prowl, except for two factors. One, the door winged mech had fallen on aforementioned door wings jarring them painfully back into their sockets in a very unpleasant manner. The second reason nearly made the tactician purge and overrode the pain he knew his back was in. On the edge of his processors, Prowl could hear the saboteur calling to him worriedly, but the black and white couldn't manage more than a hiss and groan.

The majority of his higher processing functions were centered on the groin plating that he clutched so dearly…where Jazz's knee joint had solidly planted itself when they fell.

Jazz was completely beside himself as he tried to get the curled up tactician to respond. When Prowl had not managed to form a single word reply, the Porsche panicked and made as if to open a line to the CMO.

That got a response out of the downed tactician more than anything else, as he cried out (in a slight falsetto), "Wait!"

Relieved that his boyfriend was coherent, the saboteur once again kneeled at his side, trying to help the door winged mech into a sitting position.

"Man, I am so sorry, Prowler. I tripped on a data case that I had left out." The Porsche's cerulean visor was wide in worry, completely at odds with his still revving engine.

"_It'-s o-ka-y_..." Prowl started, then cleared his vocals and attempted to speak again. "It is okay, Jazz. I am fine. It is not your fault." The tactician tried to sooth the visored mech as best he could, hunched over, radiating pain from both front and back. The black and white guessed he was probably not overly convincing.

"No, it's not. Here. Lemme at least get ya to the doc and he can have a look at you." As the Porsche helped Prowl gingerly to his pedes, the tactician stiffened before he shook his head in the negative.

Straightening out as normal as the tactician could manage, Prowl managed to make optic contact with the saboteur, optics a few shades too pale still. "I will be fine, Jazz. I truly would rather not bother Ratchet with something that will go away on its own in an hour or so."

The martini racer looked unconvinced.

Sighing, the tactician brought one of Jazz's black servos to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon the back. "I am going to call it a night, I think, but thank you for the dance. I very much enjoyed it."

Prowl's optics were clear and full of emotion as he held Jazz's gaze. Shoulders slumping slightly, the Porsche finally nodded in acquiescence before offering the Datsun a little half smile.

"Alright then, but I am gonna make it up to ya. I mean it, k?" Jazz looked searchingly at Prowl and the tactician gave him his own minimalistic smile before bidding the Porsche a good night.

* * *

Once the saboteur's door cycled closed behind Prowl, he regained his hunched-over position and proceeded to slowly make his painstaking way back to his quarters. Thankful that at least he and Jazz had rooms on the same level, relatively close to each other.

All that the tactician wanted to do was to curl up in his berth and give into the now throbbing needs of his body and pass out. Short of offlining, there was no way in the Pit that he was going to bother Ratchet for what clearly fell into the medics "Very Stupid Things" category.

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_A/N: HUGE thanks to everyone who has reviewed, faved, alerted, stumbled across this story, etc. I am glad that you have liked it so far and I am VERY sorry for taking so long to update (I blame the horde of bunnies that kidnapped my poor little brain and held it hostage). Hopefully there are still a few people reading this…_

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	5. Chapter 04, Best Laid Plans of Prowls

**To Seduce a Porsche (**Part 4**)**

Transformers (G1) Verse  
Rating: PG-13 (though could probably turn to a "G" rating if Prowl can't get things right this time)  
Characters: Prowl, Jazz and a wee bit of Bluestreak for giggles

Warnings: MechxMech and all that it implies

Disclaimers: I do not own Transformers, nor make any money from writing about them. Probably why I work two jobs, ne? ^_^

_A/N: Hello again! I just wanted to say a quick and HUGE thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, fav'd and all of that jazz. This is the last chapter of this story and although I wanted to drag it out more, it just felt right to end it here. Please enjoy!_

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In which Prowl discovers that careful planning isn't always the best way to go.

* * *

The pearl white dome of Prowl's helm did not move or give any indication that he was aware of the intruder as a new datapad was carefully placed on the top of a narrow stack of matching devices sitting precariously in his inbox. The minibot was certain that his superior had noticed his presence though, even if the constant rhythm of scanning, typing and signing did not miss a beat. The tactician's movement were precise and did not deviate an inch more than necessary in their path. Troubled by the lack of response from the black and white, Bumblebee tried to make optic contact to get Prowl's attention—he was certain that the Datsun had not left his domain in the last two duty cycles, even for his rations. The third shift was just starting now and the minibot had offered to drop off Red Alert's latest security update recommendations to the SIC on his way back to the dorms.

Typically Prowl would greet his subordinate, even if it was not as energetic as Bumblebee's greetings usually were. Taking in the substantial stack of 'finished' datapads in the tactician's outbox it would suggest that there was little else that the mech had been working on during the last two rotations. Frowning, the little yellow bot vented a sigh before heading out to catch some recharge. If the tactician was still in his office when Bumblebee onlined, he would rope in either Jazz or Optimus to get the SIC to take a break away from his work.

Out of the corner of his optic, Prowl could make out the canary-yellow plating hesitate at his door way before turning with a sigh to leave. Frowning internally, the tactician did not pay it much mind. He had not meant to be rude to the minibot, but with how over-clocked his processors were at the moment and with such a low charge in his systems, he was reduced to single-tasking. An embarrassment in and of itself and normally one of the few warning signs that the Datsun would heed as a reason to take one of those rare breaks of his, but he just couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

Disaster after disaster kept playing over and over in still frames through Prowl's RAM. He was certain that by the time the images stopped cycling they would become permanently burnt into the retinas of his optics. His mind had refused to leave him be after his last failure with Jazz and after several hours of tossing and turning in his berth to no avail, the tactician had given up on recharge and decided that perhaps the sanctity of his office would provide some refuge.

With each hour that passed steadily with little improvement, Prowl had simply immersed himself further into his duties, often processing several projects simultaneously to allow little 'wiggle room' for his happily active CPU.

The tactician was hard-pressed to not shake his head in an attempt to clear it. The characters scrolling down the screen in front of him were suddenly starting to resemble the characters from an old 80's arcade game that the Autobots had enjoyed thoroughly upon their awakening. Sighing, Prowl practically slammed a hand down on his console to stop the moving data before releasing a large sigh from his weary frame.

Slouching back into his chair, the Datsun was suddenly (painfully) reminded of why he had spent the majority of his shift leaning forward—his sensor panels still ached from the unfortunate tumble last night. He had hoped that the pain would have become less insistent by now (such as his _other_ injury had, thankfully), but it seemed that it was becoming a lost cause.

_Like something else that I know._ Prowl thought morosely.

Resigning himself to a lecture and perhaps a few new dents, the tactician accessed the roster for the medical bay and was pleasantly surprised to find that the mech on duty was none other than Wheeljack. Feeling that at least something might actually go right for him of late, the black and white carefully stood from his desk—swaying only _slightly_—and made his (unsteady) way out the door, down the hall to hopefully get an adjustment on his door wings.

At least this was one pain that he could get taken care of. He somewhat doubted that Wheeljack was equipped to handle the one in his spark.

* * *

The slight breeze that curled over each sensor panel as he walked briskly away from the medical bay was a pleasant change to the dull throb that had been echoing throughout the two appendages over the last day. Now, with that problem cleared up the tactician was making a B line to the recreation room to do a quick refuel before dropping back into the thick of things in his office again.

In his spark, Prowl knew that he could not continue to avoid Jazz indefinitely. The Porsche would surely notice a lack of the SIC's presence, especially with how much time the two had been spending with each other as of late. Although the tactician felt the childish compulsion to simply hide away in his own little world until the next stroke of brilliance hit, he knew that it would better to face Jazz now and clear the air. At the very least, he could determine if this latest failed stunt of his had permanently driven a wedge between him and the saboteur. Gritting his denta as an unexpected chill of coolant rushed through his lines, Prowl fervently hoped not.

Noise filtered down the empty, burnt orange passageway as the constantly open doors of the rec room became visible to the SIC. Based upon the level of noise, the door winged mech imagined that just about every off-duty bot was in the room relaxing and enjoying their time off with each other. Prowl severely hoped that Jazz was still on duty. As much as he was ready to face his love, he would prefer to at least be able to go at it with a full charge.

A small crowd of minibots congregated to the immediate right of the rec room's entrance at one of the larger tables as the black and white entered. Too engrossed in their card game, they paid the Datsun little mind as did the rest of the room's occupants. Something that Prowl was quite grateful for. Stopping at the dispenser, the tactician filled first one, then two cubes of the low grade ration that was fed to the rank and file. He knew from experience that one cube would not be nearly enough to top his tanks off at this point. Before the mech made it a few steps from the machine, he felt an irritating ache start from behind the brilliant crimson of his chevron. The processor ache was one of the last warning signs he received before his beloved battle computer and several other nonessential systems would shut down to conserve energy.

With a huff, the tactician put his head down and went to make a hasty retreat back to his office before he did something completely foolish in his state. The jarring smack against his chassis was both unexpected and nearly sent him sprawling, if not for the white servo that quickly caught his wrist.

Abruptly stopped from his embarrassing fall, Prowl's optics unshuttered to meet the amused ones of his protégé.

"Hey Prowl. How's it going? Are you doing okay? You don't look so well. Is that why you came here to pick up some energon? Bumblebee said something about you not taking a break lately…"

With ease, the tactician cut off the other Datsun's diatribe. Shaking his head Prowl smiled faintly, "I am fine, Bluestreak. Thank you for inquiring."

The grey mech picked right up where he had left off, having no trouble redirecting his commentary. "Oh, okay! Well, why don't you stay for a breem and just relax?"

"I am sorry, Bluestreak, but I was taking a quick break to pick up some energon. I was just on my way back to my office." The last thing that the black and white wanted to do is linger out in the open where his tumulus thoughts would have a chance to overtake him.

"Aw, do you have to? I haven't seen you much for weeks now. Just five minutes? I promise I'll let you get back to your work after that!" Wide, baby blue optics fairly shimmered as the younger mech gazed beseechingly at the SIC. Prowl was fairly certain that his audios caught more than a few snickers on his behalf—there was not a bot amongst the crew that could resist the young gunner. Even Sunstreaker, if rumors were to be believed.

Venting a sigh, the tactician's door panels wilted slightly in resignation. He had been neglecting the gunner during his courtship of Jazz and such a minor request could not cause much harm.

"Very well..." Bluestreak pumped a fist, "…but only a few minutes, Bluestreak and then I really must be going."

"You got it, Prowl. Come on! I have a table saved and everything."

The gleeful gunner snatched up both cubes from the tactician's servos before leading him over to said table. Once seated, the younger mech immediately launched into all of the pertinent events that he felt the tactician had missed and therefore needed to know about. Letting the steady stream of words flow over him, Prowl listened intently to his protégé while sipping his rations. The return to normalcy was an unexpected relief to the black and white and even after his first cube was gone and he had started on his second, he found himself still seated across from the grey Datsun enjoying his tales.

The latest being that apparently Sideswipe had come across a questionable stash of high grade while he had been cleaning the deserted lower level barracks (as punishment for something or another) and had decided to throw caution to the wind and bring it back to his room for consumption. He had, of course, persuaded his brother and (surprisingly) Smokescreen to test out the batch. The end result was three upset tanks, sore audios from Ratchet's rather lengthy lecture and one seriously throttled Sideswipe, courtesy of his twin.

"…it was so funny, Prowl. If you could have just seen Sunstreaker's face when he realized that the stuff was practically alkaline and some had dripped on his finish! It's just the sort of thing that you warn them about too, huh? What is it you always say? 'Look for trouble…"

"…and trouble will find you." The tactician completed one of his infamous phrases. It was a simple truth, he felt. The irony of the situation was quite enjoyable. At least, it would be enjoyable if Prowl had not inadvertently become hip-plate-deep in his thoughts of Jazz.

Bluestreak grew silent for a moment, contemplating the slightly slumped formed of his superior. Although Prowl was not an overly extroverted mech, he typically did not walk around with the weight of the world resting on his axles. In fact, the elder mech looked as though he was thoroughly beat down as if by some internal force.

Tilting his helm to the side, the gunner frowned. Ever since Prowl and Jazz had become an item, the SIC had seemed more upbeat, and dare he say…happy.

Noticing the lack of conversation, the tactician glanced up from his study of the swirling contents of his half-filled cube and was met by worried faceplates.

"What's wrong, Prowl? You seem really down."

Straightening his posture, the tactician did his best to smooth of his expression and replied as nonchalantly as possible, "Nothing is the matter. I was merely thinking."

Smirking, the grey door-winged mech pointed a digit at the SIC. "Nice try, but you'll notice that I said 'what' and not 'if'. So, what is it? Does it have to do with Jazz?"

The tactician's mouth opened and closed a few times to reply, but his normal dismissive remarks did not seem to want to come out.

"It _is_ Jazz, isn't it?" Bluestreak looked very certain of his statement. The emotion changed instantly to open worry as he asked, "Oh! You guys didn't break up, did you? That would be horrible because you are just perfect for each other!"

For a moment, Prowl looked blankly at the gunner who was so visibly upset on his behalf. Perhaps, just this once…it would not hurt to have another pair of audios hear him out.

Releasing a heavy sigh, the tactician dejectedly began, "It is and it is not. Jazz is wonderful and we _do_ balance each other out so well. He is the only one whom I have ever met that I can not begin to imagine a life without."

"And does he feel the same?" Bluestreak hedged.

"Yes. That is one thing that I can be certain of. He has never invested as much energy into one individual as he has in me. Combined with the lengths that he went to in pursuing a solid relationship with me, I can come to no less of a conclusion."

"Then…what's the problem? You both love each other, right?" Now the grey mech was really confused!

"Yes, definitely. The problem is..." The tactician trailed off as he glanced around the thankfully now less occupied room. Lowering his vocals, the black and white leaned in and Bluestreak felt compelled to imitate him. "The problem is that we can not seem to be able to take the next step in our relationship."

"Oh. OH! Wait, you mean that you guys haven't…"

Prowl cut the gunner off with the surprisingly furious shaking of his helm. The younger mech had to blink at the faint blush that was creeping across normally pristine grey faceplates.

"Well, I guess that could be a problem. Have you, uhm…tried?" The gunner felt his faceplates begin to heat as well. He was having a hard time believing that he was having this kind of conversation with his mentor.

Helm bowed below his shoulder plating, the black and white (or at least his chevron) mumbled, "_Yes_."

After a moment, Prowl leaned back, crisp blue optics tracing the lines of the ceiling plating before lowering to regard the younger mech. "I have tried on multiple occasions using multiple plans and techniques of seduction and each time there has been some calamity that I have not planned for."

Blinking owlishly at the unexpected statement, the gunner leaned back a bit at the intensity of the black and white's reply. Bluestreak smiled softly at the frustrated expression on the older mech. It was so strange (and yet exciting!) to see Prowl this relaxed and open about his emotions with anyone. It had to be Jazz. The saboteur had a way about him the warmed even the coldest spark—not that he thought the tactician was cold-sparked as so many liked to callously mutter.

"Well, if you like Jazz and he likes you, why don't you just straight out ask him?"

A tiny fidget made its way out of the tight control that the tactician was in danger of losing, hands absently turning his remaining cube this way and that on the table.

"I want it to be…_special_. For both of us, but especially for him. I want Jazz to know what and how much that I feel for him and I wanted to openly express it. He knows that I have difficulty…" Prowl's mouth turned down in distaste at the term. "…with physical expressions of emotion. I want to be able to _show him_ because it is the least that he deserves in our relationship."

"So that's why you have put all of this energy into planning a 'romantic evening'?"

Sighing, Prowl rubbed at the middle of his chevron—a gesture not lost on the other Praxian. "Again, yes."

A chime sounded, startling both mechs and the gunner looked sheepishly down at this wrist guard.

"Sorry about that, Prowl. I'm on duty now." The other Datsun was apologetic as he stood to leave.

"That is alright, Bluestreak. Thank you for listening to me." Searching the other's optics, the tactician did his best to allow his protégé to see how grateful he was for the talk.

Waving him off, the grey mech shrugged. "No prob, Prowl. Anytime—and I mean that, too. Just one last piece of advice? Sometimes with love it's best to just act on your emotions instead of letting logic get in the way."

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, the young gunner left, leaving the stunned tactician to his thoughts.

* * *

(_later that evening…_)

Twin piles of datapads made for perfect bookends for the monochromatic figure that sat nestled between them. Helm braced by one servo as the other lay curled around a flickering datapad, the tactician was the epitome of stillness. Inside, though, his emotions were once again swirling causing a lovely processor ache and a slightly grumbling tank. The SIC was supposed to be working on the next week's assignments (well, technically the week after that since he had already finished next week's), but had made little progress.

Glaring at the offending piece of technology as if it was the source of his problems, Prowl shuttered his optics and attempted once again to reign in those pesky emotion protocols. This was one reason he very much enjoyed relying upon nice, clean, rational logic. If there was a problem, there always was a solution and with enough determination, one could find a near flawless solution at that.

But no solution was presenting itself to him at the moment—only blank space and white noise. He reviewed his latest tactical plan for Jazz's seduction, attempting to use his onboard battle computer to compensate for all known (and unknown) variables. So far his success rate was right around 38%. Horrid, especially if compared to the average 89% success rate of his battle plans.

The sound of tinkling chimes managed to filter through the molasses that coated his processors and Prowl's helm rose in confusion. A few more rings and the Datsun belatedly realized that it was his door chime. Scrubbing a white servo across his faceplates, the tactician called a hasty "Enter" while trying to shake off his 'funk' and look more the part of a dignified and competent SIC and not a pouting fool.

The heavy metal door _swooshed_ aside effortlessly, admitting the very mech that Prowl had been sort of avoiding.

Startled, the tactician quickly asked his fellow black and white, "Jazz. Did you need something from me?"

The intense gaze that he received was completely unexpected. The visored saboteur seemed to simply be giving him a once over, thumb and forefinger rubbing his chin plating in thought. For once, the third's expression was completely unreadable to the second and that unnerved him. Was this Jazz finally deciding that he had enough of Prowl's pathetic attempts and was ready to move on? Had something happened outside of his office that he was unaware of?

Worried that something was wrong, but dreading the answer as well, the tactician girded his loins (so to speak) and simply asked. "Jazz, has something happened? Is everything alright?"

Half-consciously, the saboteur _hmm'd, _whether it be agreement or a general comment on the weather, the tactician had no idea. Casually, the other black and white pushed away from where he had been observing the Datsun and made his way towards him. As Prowl stood up to meet him—now thoroughly worried about the Porsche's strange behavior—he distantly thought that he heard the click of his door's lock, but was cut off from making any mention of it as the other mech was suddenly grabbing him by the forearms…

…and thoroughly kissing the life out him. The tactician had a moment to gasp for breath, inadvertently giving the saboteur an open route to his mouth and warm lips were pressing over his again. An equally warm glossa wormed its way around his own docile one, curling and pulling, then practically sucking his glossa back into the visored mech's own mouth.

By now, the saboteur's hands had relinquished their original hold on the tactician in exchange for a far _better_ hold on the broad, white back plates of the other mech. Prowl could do no more than feebly grasp at the boxy corners of the saboteur's shoulders as he did little more than hang on for the ride. Heat had already suffused the tactician's systems in an embarrassingly short amount of time, already incredibly worked up from what really was just one little kiss.

Intakes panting raggedly, Jazz released Prowl and grinned wolfishly at the swollen silver lip plating and thoroughly dazed expression of his boyfriend. Optics several shades darker (_becoming a lovely shade of royal blue, in Jazz's opinion_) and plating warm to the touch, the tactician's lust was as plain on his faceplates as could be.

Stealing one more quick indulgence of a peck on those intoxicating lips, the Porsche nodded. "Yup, I thought so."

Without letting the other mech get a word in, or even stop to think, Jazz pressed his frame as flush to the other mech's as possible. Prowl's optics widened as he registered the deeply purring engine and heat infusing the chassis pressed so intimately to his own. Two jet black servos grabbed the tactician's helm, sealing his gasping mouth once again in a heated lip lock, all the while the saboteur used his bulk to back the door winged mech into and then (with a helpful lift from the visored mech) _onto_ the tactician's large desk.

The two towers of datapads never had a chance, both careening to the ground from the sudden occupation of their space by two much larger beings. Some merely skittered across the floor, while others were not so lucky—meeting their doom against the hard steel below.

Neither Prowl nor Jazz seemed to notice as they landed backwards with little grace onto the (thankfully) solid piece of office furniture. Moaning loudly, two white thighs spread out wide before closing together to wrap tightly around sleek, black hip plating. The squeaks and squeals of the poor, abused piece of furniture went unnoticed and unheard by all occupants of the Ark, save for the two mechs doing their best to wring louder and breathier cries from each other.

* * *

The crackles and pings of heated metal cooling to room temperature filled the relative quiet of the room, alongside the decreasing aspirations of two ventilations systems.

Lazily, a single servo trailed digits along the wide planes of black and white metal that rested against a sloping chest plate. The hand swirled in loose figure eights and random patterns of varying arcs and pressures.

Humming happily to himself, Jazz continued his languid exploration of the sensor panels that he had longed to feel up every inch of since pretty close to the moment he first saw Prowl. The tactician was completely oblivious to the saboteur's attentions, still offline from both the intensity of their overload and his lack of proper recharge of late.

It had not taken the visored mech all that long to get the normally prim and proper second reduced to crying and whimpering in need, frame undulating against his seemingly of its own accord. If he were to be honest with himself, it hadn't taken the saboteur any additional effort to be just as worked up. Frag, just having the lovely enforcer curled in his lap was enough to make his circuits spark for another round.

Speaking of Prowl, Jazz glanced down as the cadence of the door-winged mech's systems changed—spark pulse increasingly slightly and the hum of power gaining in volume. Muttering something nonsensical that had the saboteur grinning in fondness, the tactician managed to online his optics halfway as he attempted to get his thoughts in order.

Finding himself and the love of his life slumped against a wall in what appeared to be his office kicked the mech's hard drives into play as Prowl sharply remembered every detail leading up to his new found resting spot. Shifting slightly in the loose hold that his…_lover_—the tactician nearly locked up at the foreign term—the SIC looked up and found himself face-to-face with a broadly smiling saboteur. Blinking dumbly, the door-winged mech felt his faceplates flush as the other bot casually felt along a sensor panel, before dropping the servo to rest smack on his aft.

Jazz could not stop smiling even if he wanted to. The other bot was so obviously embarrassed and just so _cute_ that he couldn't help, but tuck the mech more tightly into his chassis. The fine-tuned sensors in his hands were having a field day cataloguing the lines and curves of the tactician's chassis. He promised himself that inch-by-inch he would memorize and learn every bit of that hot frame even if it meant kidnapping his new lover and taking him on a nice, little vacation.

Taking some pity on the blushing mech, the visored mech leaned in and gave the Datsun a small peck on the tip of his nasal ridge. "Hello there, lover."

If at all possible, Prowl's blush only grew even as he shyly smiled back at the affectionate term. This is what the tactician had been longing for—dreaming of—for who knows how long and to finally be in this position nearly took his breath away. He was not about to argue the serendipitous change of events, after all this was heaven to the Datsun. Pure and simple;

The sharp ridge of the Porsche's nasal ridge rubbed slowly against his audio, like some large cat and Prowl could not help the deep sigh of contentment that seemed to bubble out of his intakes. A soft pair of metallic lips mouthed his audio for a moment while both of the saboteur's black servos squeezed along his flank.

Hot air blew across his rounded audio, causing a cool spot from the previous laved attentions of the saboteur. "As much as I appreciate all of the special attention that you've been givin' me, sometimes it's just better ta ask—no seduction required. I'll have ya however I can get ya. Preferably multiple times."

The last line was delivered so low-pitched and sultry that the tactician found his drained body eagerly responding in an instant to the promise that lay in the undertone of the saboteur's rich vocals. Even then, a small frown settled on Prowl's faceplates as he pulled back to look at the Porsche optic-to-optic.

"I just wanted this to be special for you. You mean…so much _more_ than I can ever hope to describe. It seemed like the best way to express it to you."

A low chuckle reverberated through the tactician from where he lay pressed against the more angular form of the saboteur.

"Mech, just being with ya makes it special enough."

Optics widening at the depth behind the statement, Prowl felt the unexpected burn of something just behind the lenses. "Jazz…"

"Now, if it's all the same to ya, I think I'd like to make the best of our position."

A heated look that would probably have seared straight through his frame had Prowl been created with laser vision. As it was, the Porsche had the extraordinary pleasure of being 'stalked' like some prey by the sleek mech who graceful unwound from his previous position to slide languorously up the length of the saboteur's frame. Inch by inch the door-winged mech stretched his chassis along the panting visored mech's, a predatory grin being the last thing Jazz saw before his senses were once again overwhelmed by the mech whom we loved.

* * *

Dark grey pedes balanced precariously on the edge of the table, Bluestreak let out a good laugh at the antics of the red frontliner, along with Hound, Smokescreen, and the somewhat sulky form of the twin's brother.

The day had been a long one, but at the end of it all it was times like these that made it worth it to the gunner. Being able to knock back a cube of bootleg high grade with his closest friends—war, simply a shadow waiting outside the door—it settled his spark like nothing else could.

By now, Sideswipe was in full 'narrator mode' and the tall mech had stood from his seat, servos gesticulating in time to his latest adventure. It was a good thing that his audience was sitting because more than once he would swing his long arms a little too fast, which could (in his current state) cause a minor decapitation to someone. Feeling his spark pulsing faster and his fuel pump working over time, the young gunner mused to himself that the prankster had undone himself on this latest batch. Not that Bluestreak was a lightweight, but really he had only had a cube and a half and was already buzzing with overcharge.

A brief data feed was sent over his secure channel and, still smiling, the grey Datsun took a glance at it. Suddenly the young mech looked absolutely delighted—like the cat who caught the canary—completely at odds to where Sideswipe was in his tale. The hunter green tracker to his left noticed the expression and leaned over with a smile of his own.

"What's so funny, Blue?"

Shaking his helm from side to side, but still smiling Bluestreak simply waved off his friend's question, directing his attention back to the master storyteller.

Jazz's message blinking merrily in his HUD –

'_Thanks for the advice, Blue. It's been put to good use. – J :)'_

* * *

_A/N: Holy shmokes, it's done! Good ol' Bluestreak saves the day, ne? Well, I hope that those who have kept up with this story have enjoyed reading it and hopefully the ending was acceptable._

_Please, please drop me a line and let me know what you thought of this chapter, and heck, the entire thing. I've been kicking around another story to follow up on this one (though featuring a new pairing with some PXJ thrown in for kicks). Am I crazy (uh…craz__ier__)?_

_Last, but certainly not least I left the nitty gritty details out to keep the rating on the happier PG-13 side. If any __mature__ individuals are wanting a little more, zee smut can be found on my Livejournal account. :)_

_Catch you later and as always, thank you for taking the time to read what I have written! ^_^_


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